HAEMONIES 


M.A.DEWOLFE  HOWE 


m 


'.v'-".-. 


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UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 


Class 


HARMONIES 

A  Book  of  Verse 


HARMONIES 


A    BOOK    OF   VERSE 


BY 


M.    A.   DE  WOLFE   HOWE 


HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 

BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK   •  THE 

RIVERSIDE    PRESS    CAMBRIDGE 

1909 


BENEM 


COPYRIGHT,   1909,   BY  M.   A.  DE  WOLFE   HOWE 
ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED 

Published  October  IQOQ 


A  portion  of  the  following  collection  is  taken  from  the 
writer's  previous  volume,  Shadows.  For  permission  to  re- 
print the  verses  which  have  appeared  in  periodicals  acknow- 
ledgments are  gratefully  made  to  the  various  publishers. 


192695 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 


The  Song  to  the  Singer  2 

Harmonies  3 

Laus  Dionysi  5 
Finalities 

I.  The  Ambush  15 

II.  The  Last  Enemy  16 

The  Valiant  18 

For  the  Night  20 

Distinction  22 

Of  Elizabethan  Poets  22 

The  Unseen  Panoply  23 

The  Lark  Songs  25 

-4  Birthday  Verse  27 

Tte  P/oy  28 

Proportion  30 

Sea  F<rcce  32 

Evangel  34 

Unconquered  36 

Helmsman  37 


viii  CONTENTS 

By  the  Shore  38 

Flags  at  Half-Mast  41 

The  Death  42 

The  Orchestra  44 

The  First  of  Spring  47 

Weeping  Willows  47 

Interpretation  48 

The  Horizon  at  Sea  50 

The  Field-Day  51 

"  Hoar-Frost  like  Ashes  "  54 

Winter  Beauty  54 

4  Z>«0  55 

Goldenrod  58 

Revelation  58 

F»r0  o/  Apple-Wood  59 

Broken  Stillness  61 

Before  the  Snow  62 

S0wg  63 

Bitter-Sweet  64 

T&e  M«J  65 

Giving  and  Keeping  66 

4  Treasure  House  67 

-4  Sermon  68 


CONTENTS  ix 

At  the  Heart  70 

The  Headsman  71 

The  Field  of  Honor  73 

The  Physician  74 

Geography  75 

Lesbians  Sparrow  77 

"  Whom  the  Gods  Love  "  79 

4  Gala  Day  79 

Investigation  So 

The  Last  Act  82 

4/ter  All  83 

T/^  Travellers  84 

"Where  It  Listeth"  86 

4  PFiw/er  £fegy  87 

Waiting  Deeds  89 

Sunrise  91 
£.  PP.  H. 

Abiding  Voice  95 

Returned  97 

Fourscore  99 

Presence  100 

Chamber  104 


HARMONIES 


THE   SONG  TO   THE   SINGER 

They  will  not  know  who  read  and  sing 
What  you  and  I  know  who  have  known 

How  fair  I  was  that  day  of  spring 
I  bade  you  mould  me  for  your  own. 

These  words  which  half  reveal  my  soul 
Are  how  much  more  to  you  and  me  I 

Pellucid  beauties,  clear  and  whole, 
Behind,  around  them  all  we  see. 

Above  this  faltering  tune  that  tells 
The  measure  I  must  walk  within, 

For  us  a  sweeter  music  wells  — 

The  magic  strain  that  should  have  been. 

Yet  this  is  better  than  to  die, 
And  you  had  joy  of  me  one  day  ; 

Then  you  are  mine,  and  yours  am  I  — 
Who  likes  us  not  may  go  his  way. 


HARMONIES 

STRANGE  instrument  of  many  strings 
For  men  to  play  on,  slaves  and  kings, 
Let  me  but  keep  thee,  Life,  in  tune, 
That  fall  what  may,  by  night  or  noon, 
Still  in  the  heart  shall  sing  for  me 
One  clear  and  constant  melody. 

Too  oft  the  clamor  and  the  strife 
Of  living  quench  the  notes  of  life; 
Too  oft  they  lose  their  customed  way, 
In  alien  sequences  to  stray. 
Yet  ever  stealing  back,  they  fall 
Into  the  cadence  sought  through  all. 

Then  grief  and  gladness,  love  and  pain 
Blend  all  their  harmonies  again; 


HARMONIES 

The  heavens  uplift  a  shining  arch 
Spacious  above  the  soul's  brave  march : 
//  /  but  keep  thee,  night  and  noon, 
Ever  and  truly,  Life,  in  tune  — 
Strange  instrument  of  many  strings 
For  slaves  to  play  on,  and  for  kings. 


LAUS   DIONYSI 

(For  Music) 

CHORUS:  Men,  Women,  Boys 

SPRING  ON  THE  LAND 

SPRING  on  the  vineyards  of  Attica !  Spring  on  the 

land, 
All  the  dear  land  of  the  Hellenes  loved  of  the 

sun! 

The  god  Dionysus  immortally  breathes  his  com- 
mand, 

And  the  bars  of  the  prison  of  winter  dissolve,  and 
are  gone! 

He  hath  slept  —  he  awakes;  he  stirs  on  the  hills  — 

he  is  free, 

And  the  blood  at  the  bountiful  heart  of  the  earth 
throbs  again; 


6  LAUS  DIONYSI 

Blue  is  the  sky  overhead  and  blue  is  the  sea, 
And  green  roll  the  billows  on  laughing  valley  and 
plain. 

The  sap,  to  the  uttermost  tendrils,  is  quick  in  the 

vine; 
It  shall  creep,  it  shall  mount,  till  the  spheres  of 

delight  take  form; 
They  shall  blush,  they  shall  swell,  —  and  their 

blood  flowing  red  in  the  wine 
Shall  be  one  with   the  life-blood  of  men,  all 
vibrant  and  warm. 

Who  but  thee,  Dionysus,  hath  guarded  the  vine- 
yards at  first? 

Their  fruit  at  the  last  shall  be  turned  to  thy 
kingly  employ; 


LAUS  DIONYSI  7 

And  cool  at  the  lips  of  sorrowing  mortals  athirst 
Flows  ever  thy  chalice  of  kinship  and  freedom  and 
joy. 

CHORUS:  Women 

THE  BIRTH  OF  DIONYSUS 

Semele,  a  woman,  bore  thee: 

We,  her  mortal  sisters,  know 
All  she  won  and  suffered  for  theer— 
All  her  ecstasy  and  woe. 
lo  Bacche, 
lo  Bacche, 

Daughters  of  the  sun-kissed  grape 
Joy  nor  anguish  may  escape. 

Semele  besought  her  lover: 

"Zeus,  effulgent  king,  draw  nigh! 

All  thy  splendor  now  uncover 
As  to  Hera  throned  on  high!" 


LAUS  DIONYSI 

lo  Bacche, 

lo  Bacche, 

Daughters  of  the  mystic  vine 
Ever  crave  a  heavenly  sign. 

"  Semele,  I  come."   And  round  her 
Blazed  a  glory,  lightning- torn. 
Blinded,  stricken,  dead,  they  found  her 
Yet  was  Dionysus  born, 
lo  Bacche, 
lo  Bacche, 

Daughters  of  the  mortal  race 
Dying  still  to  life  give  place. 

Child  of  Semele,  we  sing  thee 

Hymns  of  holy  mysteries; 
Nature's  next  of  kin  we  bring  thee 

Earth's  eternal  sympathies. 


LAUS  DIONYSI 

lo  Bacche, 

lo  Bacche, 

Daughters  of  the  soul's  desire 
Joyful  guard  thy  death-lit  fire. 

CHORUS  :  Men 

THE  TOKENS  OF  DIONYSUS 

By  the  cup  at  thy  leathern  girdle, 

For  the  draught  that  sweetens  toil, 
Thou  art  brother  to  all  the  brethren 

That  conquer  the  stubborn  soil. 
For  thou  hast  yoked  to  our  service 

The  sun,  the  night,  and  the  rain; 
And  thy  grateful  vinesmen  pay  thee 

With  toll  of  sweat  and  pain. 
That  the  wine  of  the  victors'  vintage 

May  gush  from  the  barren  sod 
Thou  sealest  thy  sons,  the  chosen  ones, 

To  follow  the  victor-god. 


io  LAUS  DIONYSI 

By  the  fawnskin  on  thy  shoulder, 

Got  with  the  price  of  blood, 
Thou  art  one  with  the  creature  kindred 

Of  thicket  and  field  and  wood. 
But  the  comrades  of  the  forest 

Must  fall  at  thy  children's  will 
When  the  lust  of  blood  is  on  them, 

The  passion  of  man  to  kill; 
For  the  spell  of  a  savage  fury 

Reigns  where  the  brutes  have  trod, 
And  ever  thy  sons,  the  chosen  ones, 

Must  follow  the  victor-god. 

By  the  bull's  horn  at  thy  forehead 
The  Chosen  share  thy  might  — 

Lusty  of  limb  and  fibre, 
Framed  for  the  hard-won  fight. 

By  the  pledge  of  the  fertile  pine-cone 
That  crowns  thy  wreathed  staff 


UNIVERSITY 

OF 


LAUS  DIONYSI  u 

With  the  token  of  life's  renewals, 
Men  fling  at  Death  their  laugh  : 

O'er  all  his  conquests  conqueror, 
Thy  feet  with  triumph  shod, 

Thou  sealest  thy  sons,  the  chosen  ones, 
To  follow  the  victor-god. 

CHORUS  :  Boys 

THE  WINE  OF  YOUTH 

With  shout  and  song  and  Bacchic  cry 
Thy  worshippers  go  reeling  by, 
Their  lips  all  dyed  with  ruddy  juice, 
Their  tattered  goatskins  flying  loose. 
Wild  creatures  from  the  coverts  come 
To  join  the  rout  with  antics  dumb, 
And  man  and  satyr  mingled  seem 
Like  some  mad  figment  of  a  dream. 
Women  with  streaming  locks  unbound 


12  LAUS  DIONYSI 

Whirl  tempest-like  thine  altars  round; 
For  men  with  eyes  of  roving  fire 
The  sacrifice  flames  high  and  higher. 
The  grape,  the  grape!  on  every  tongue 
Its  praise  and  thine  together  sung! 

And  we  —  the  youngest-born  of  earth, 
O  youngest  of  immortal  birth, 
Need  yet  no  draught  of  autumn  wine 
To  bring  our  hearts  in  tune  with  thine. 
We  press  no  grape  to  drink  our  fill 
Of  exaltation :  ours  to  thrill 
From  heart  to  prickling  finger-tip 
With  wine  that  staineth  not  the  lip, 
The  wine  of  youth,  the  wine  of  youth :  — 
Who  drink  it  need  not  seek  thy  truth; 
'T  is  theirs  unasked  —  a  heavenly  flood, 
Wine  of  the  young  heart's  leaping  blood! 


LAUS  DIONYSI  13 

CHORUS:  Men,  Women,  Boys 

SPRING  IN  THE  HEART 

Spring  in  the  heart,  Eleutherios,  highest  of  names ! 
The  bonds  of  the  spirit  are  broken;  the  prisoned 

go  free! 

Mortal  to  mortal,  emancipate,  joyous,  proclaims 
Spring  in  the  heart,  Dionysus,  springtime  from 
thee! 

Fettered  of  darkness  and  cold  lay  the  children  of 

men,  — 
For  vision  a  dimness,  the  soul  but  a  perishing 

slave,  — 
Till  the  light  and  the  warmth  of  thy  being  spread 

earthward,  and  then  — 

Then  what  a  glamor  and  glory  thy  godhead  out- 
gave! 


14  LAUS  DIONYSI 

Eyes  that  were  lustreless  shine  with  all  beauty's 

delight, 
Flashing  to  grace  and  to  color  their  signal,  their 

gleam; 
Murmurs  of  song  thrill  sweet  on  the  soundless 

night, 
Music  of  reeds  and  the  wind  on  a  magical  stream. 

Lips  that  were  dumb  break  forth  in  thy  passionate 

praise, 
For  spring  in  the  heart,  Dionysus,  is  light  to  the 

blind; 
The  ways  of  the  spirit  of  song,  love  and  life  are  thy 

ways  — 

Flame  of  the  fires  of  youth  at  the  heart  of  man- 
kind! 


FINALITIES 

I 

THE  AMBUSH 

SUDDEN  turnings  of  the  trail, 
Fading  footprints,  clues  that  fail  — 
What  may  not  these  portents  mean 
When  the  Foe  is  all  unseen, 
And  each  fated  pioneer 
Fares  along  the  grim  frontier? 

Lurking  somewhere,  left  or  right, 
Near  the  pathway,  safe  from  sight, 
In  his  ambush  subtly  laid, 
Stands  the  patient,  hostile  Shade. 
Come  you  marching  like  a  king, 
Like  a  craven  loitering, 


1 6  FINALITIES 

Still  the  unconquerable  Foe 
Waits  your  coming:  forward  go. 

Thus  along  the  grim  frontier 
Fares  each  fated  pioneer. 

n 

THE  LAST  ENEMY 

FOR  my  destined  last  defeat 
Naught  of  mercy  I  entreat; 
Only  borne  to  earth  and  faint 
May  I  fall  without  complaint; 
But,  dear  Foe,  for  them  I  love 
All  thy  mercy  would  I  move. 
Torture  not  their  end  with  vain 
Long  vicissitudes  of  pain; 
Though  they  feel  thee  lurking  near, 
Let  their  brave  hearts  laugh  at  fear 


FINALITIES  17 

Then  bestow  thy  sweetest  gift, 
Smiting  merciful  and  swift. 
Yet  —  yet  may  the  stroke  be  stayed 
Till  at  evening,  undismayed, 
They  shall  seize  the  vision  far 
Of  one  reassuring  star! 

Foe  no  longer,  friendly  death, 
So  thy  horror  vanisheth. 


THE  VALIANT 

NOT  for  the  star-crowned  heroes,  the  men  that 

conquer  and  slay, 
But  a  song  for  those  that  bore  them,  the  mothers 

braver  than  they! 
With  never  a  blare  of  trumpets,  with  never  a  surge 

of  cheers, 
They  march  to  the  unseen  hazard  —  pale,  patient 

volunteers; 
No  hate  in  their  hearts  to  steel  them,  —  with  love 

for  a  circling  shield, 
To  the  mercy  of  merciless  nature  their  fragile 

selves  they  yield. 
Now  God  look  down  in  pity,  and  temper  Thy 

sternest  law; 
From  the  field  of  dread  and  peril  bid  Pain  his  troops 

withdraw ! 


THE  VALIANT  19 

Then  unto  her  peace  triumphant  let  each  spent 
victor  win, 

Though  life  be  bruised  and  trembling,  —  yet,  lit 
from  a  flame  within 

Is  the  wan  sweet  smile  of  conquest,  gained  with- 
out war's  alarms, 

The  woman's  smile  of  victory  for  the  new  life  safe 
in  her  arms. 

So  not  for  the  star-crowned  heroes,  the  men  that 

conquer  and  slay, 
But  a  song  for  those  that  bore  them,  the  mothers 

braver  than  they! 


FOR  THE   NIGHT 

GIVE  me  of  all  thy  weariness,  O  day! 

Let  body,  mind,  and  spirit  so  be  spent 

That  when  death's  herald-brother,  sleep,  is  sent, 

Resistless,  I  may  yield  me  to  his  sway 

Till  the  black  silence  lulls  me  to  content. 

Then  let  the  dark  fall  like  a  total  shroud, 
And  fold  me  in  till  day  again  is  bright, 
Not  lifting  with  the  gray  retreat  of  night, 
To  leave  me  lying  mute  before  the  crowd 
Of  gliding  shapes  that  steal  upon  my  sight. 

Dread  ghosts  are  they  of  all  my  deeds  misdone 
And  words  unspoken;  shield  my  wakeful  bed 
From  hours  of  dawn  when  most  they  rear  their  head, 
To  whisper  me  of  ungrasped  moments  gone, 
To  mock  my  impotence  now  all  is  sped. 


FOR  THE  NIGHT  21 

Nor  give  me  dreams,  for  they  will  lead  my  feet 
To  walk  in  paths  wherefrom  I  needs  must  turn 
For  streets  of  day;  and  though  in  sleep  I  spurn 
Their  semblances,  and  vaguely  scoff  the  cheat, 
Yet  when  the  parting  comes,  the  heart  will  burn. 

Nay,  as  if  under  Death's  dark  still  caress, 

New  courage  silently  would  I  attain 

To  fight  the  new  day's  fight  —  and  not  in  vain, 

If  from  its  hours  I  win  fresh  weariness, 

To  make  me  ready  for  the  night  again. 


DISTINCTION 

THE  village  sleeps,  a  name  unknown,  till  men 
With  life-blood  stain  its  soil,  and  pay  the  due 

That  lifts  it  to  eternal  fame,  —  for  then 
Tis  grown  a  Gettysburg  or  Waterloo. 


OF   ELIZABETHAN   POETS 

OUR  later  singers  vaunt  their  new- turned  lays, 
Doubling,  they  say,  the  world's  poetic  store; 

We  turn  to  pages  writ  in  Shakespeare's  days, 
And  lo !  the  songs  have  all  been  sung  before. 


THE   UNSEEN    PANOPLY 

HE  is  dead  —  the  towering  chief, 
And  the  world  must  say  farewell 
With  the  grandeur  of  public  grief, 
With  pageant  and  chant  and  knell, 
With  the  heavy  fragrance  of  flowers, 
And  the  lingering  march  of  those 
Who  would  hold  the  headlong  hours 
When  eternity  presses  close. 

Thus  for  the  soul  far  sped 
Let  his  ashes  honored  be, 
For  the  master  of  men  is  dead, 
And  but  once  come  such  as  he. 

As  he  sank,  an  infant's  breath 
Flickered  and  paused  and  ceased; 
To  serve  at  the  rites  of  death 


24  THE  UNSEEN  PANOPLY 

Came  father,  mother,  and  priest. 
Where  were  the  stately  show, 
Dirge  and  garlands  and  pall? 
Where  was  the  pomp  of  woe?  — 
Two  hearts  enwrapped  it  all. 

No  echoing  word  was  said, 
There  was  naught  for  the  world  to  see; 
But  the  first-born  child  lay  dead, 
And  but  once  come  such  as  he. 


THE   LARK   SONGS 

IT  was  not  thou  alone  I  heard, 
First  lark  that  sang  from  English  skies, 

And  to  mine  ears  seemed  less  a  bird 
Than  chorister  of  Paradise. 

Full  sweet  from  heaven  thy  music  fell, 
Yet  with  it  came  two  voices  more, 

Two  songs  that  blent  with  thine  to  tell 
The  praise  I  knew  of  thee  before. 

Thy  truth  to  home  and  heaven  sang  one  — 
And  Wordsworth's  note  serene  and  strong, 

With  earth  and  sky  in  unison, 
Made  of  thy  flight  itself  a  song. 

The  other  blither  strain  I  caught 
Bore  never  a  message  but  "Rejoice"  — 


26  THE  LARK  SONGS 

Song  of  thy  very  song,  methought, 
Exultant  with  thine  own  glad  voice. 

And  unto  this,  I  knew  not  how, 

Rose  answer  from  the  sons  of  men : 
"The  world  is  listening,  Shelley,  now, 
As  thou  didst  listen  then." 


A   BIRTHDAY  VERSE 

How  fierce  the  storm  that  starless  night 

When  she  put  forth  alone! 
Watching  through  tears  that  quenched  my  sight, 

I  paced  a  shore  unknown. 

But  oh,  when  morning  broke,  and  day 

Smiled  up  across  the  tide, 
Here  in  the  harbor  safe  she  lay, 

Her  rescue  by  her  side! 


THE   PLAY 

THROUGH  countryside  and  teeming  towns 
The  troupes  of  heroes,  trulls  and  clowns, 
Captains  and  dames  of  high  degree, 
Live  out  their  farce,  their  tragedy. 
Half  players  in  this  world-wide  show, 
Half  lookers-on,  't  is  ours  to  go 
Bewildered,  wondering  what  the  scene 
And  all  its  pageantry  may  mean; 
Crudely  commingled,  bad  and  good, 
Nothing  complete,  naught  understood. 

Are  we  then  doomed  till  death  to  gaze 
Distraught  on  life's  chaotic  plays? 
Are  there  no  spectacles  more  fair  ? 
Yes,  in  those  blest  dominions  where 
The  flying  strands  of  life  are  caught 


THE  PLAY  29 

By  magic,  and  by  art  are  wrought 

To  fabrics  for  the  still  delight 

Of  eyes  that  shine  with  spirit  sight. 

Here  from  the  soul  spring  questionings 

Straight  to  the  inmost  heart  of  things; 

Here  all  the  sons  of  Shakespeare  dwell 

And  all  the  daughters  of  Rachel. 

To  every  baffled  fugitive 

From  life's  disorder  still  they  give 

Laughter  and  tears  —  and  grace  to  see 

The  truth  in  life's  epitome. 


PROPORTION 

THERE  rose  a  star  above  the  hill 

Across  the  bay; 
Through  the  night-spaces  vast  and  still 

Shone  the  great  ray; 
Beneath  it  glowed  a  lesser  light 

By  mortal  lit, 
Yet  through  the  dark  a  path  as  bright 

Led  back  to  it. 

Here  in  the  day  a  bird  flies  by, 

Above  the  trees; 
On  other  vision  bent,  mine  eye 

Unheeding  sees. 
Was  it  a  distant  eagle's  wing 

That  clove  the  blue, 


PROPORTION  31 

Or  some  near  insect  harvesting 
The  honey's  dew  ? 

If  eyes  deceive,  then  let  my  soul 

See  clear  and  straight; 
Through  all  appearance,  part  and  whole 

Stand  separate! 
Know,  soul,  what  things  are  near,  what  far,' 

Sift  great  from  small; 
Seize,  soul,  —  whatever  the  visions  are,  — 

The  truth  in  all. 


THE   SEA  VOICE 

UP  from  the  harbor  side, 

Over  the  city's  midmost  hush  of  night, 

Swells,  like  a  flooding  tide, 

The  insistent  voice  of  some  great  ship, 

Deep-throated,  as  a  man  of  might, 

Calling,  perchance,  new  greeting  to  the  land 

Now  safe  at  hand; 

Or  it  may  be  with  bugle  at  her  lip, 

Seaward  she  flings  the  first  far-reaching  cry 

Of  that  vast  speech  of  hers,  whereby 

She  sounds  her  way  from  strand  to  strand, 

Through  ocean's  fog  and  storm  and  mystery. 

Housed  safe  ashore,  deep  down 

Beneath  the  mountain  clamor  of  the  town, 

Never  by  day  comes  clear  to  me 


THE  SEA  VOICE 

That  rough  old  voice  of  the  sea. 

Only  in  chance-caught  silences  men  hear, 

As  if  by  night,  the  ages'  tale,  — 

All  are  but  dwellers  by  a  shore, 

Mariners  waiting  their  command  to  sail 

Forth  on  the  uncharted  sea  each  must  explore, 

So  strange  a  sea,  so  near. 


THE   EVANGEL 

THE  songs  of  Christmas  had  not  ceased 

Upon  the  New  Year's  air 
When  first  from  realms  unknown  released 

Her  spirit  sought  our  care. 

And  'mid  the  watch  with  hope  and  dread 

Hark!  in  the  dawn-light  dim 
A  child's  voice  in  the  room  overhead 

Wakes  with  a  crooning  hymn. 

While  shepherds  watched  their  flocks  by  night, 
All  thoughtless  sings  the  boy;  — 

Shall  lisping  lips  foretell  the  flight 
Of  fear,  the  flood  of  joy! 

Fear  not  —  still  hear  the  herald  sing 
The  treasured  words  of  old; 


THE  EVANGEL  35 

Glad  tidings  of  great  joy  I  bring  — 
The  ancient  truth  is  told! 

For  now  the  first  small  plaintive  cry 

Of  life  stirs  with  the  morn, 
And  heaven  to  earth  again  draws  nigh  — 

To  us  a  child  is  born. 

Thus  came  the  Child  of  God  to  earth; 

And  since  the  world  began 
An  angel  song  for  each  dear  birth 

Rings  in  the  heart  of  man. 


UNCONQUERED 

HIGH  o'er  the  city's  roofs  a  storm-blown  gull, 
Driven  landward  from  the  sea, 
Battles  against  the  winds  without  a  lull, 
Yet  inland  farther,  ever  back, 
Helpless  is  tossed  with  flying  rack; 
But,  messenger  of  constancy  to  me, 
I  joy  to  see  him  facing  ocean  still,  — 
As  beaten  souls  through  storm  and  night 
May  changeless  face  the  hidden  light 
By  heaven-sent  power  and  strength  of  steadfast 
will. 


THE   HELMSMAN 

WHAT  shall  I  ask  for  the  voyage  I  must  sail  to  the 

end  alone? 

Summer  and  calms  and  rest  from  never  a  labor  done  ? 
Nay,  blow,  ye  life-winds  all ;  curb  not  for  me  your 

blast, 
Strain  ye  my  quivering  ropes,  bend  ye  my  trembling 

mast. 
Then  there  can  be  no  drifting,  thank  God !  for  boat 

or  me,  — 

Eager  and  swift  our  course  over  a  living  sea. 
Mine  is  a  man's  right  arm  to  steer  through  fog  and 

foam; 

Beacons  are  shining  still  to  guide  each  farer  home. 
Give  me  your  worst,  O  winds !  others  have  braved 

your  stress; 
E'en  if  it  be  to  sink,  give  me  no  less,  no  less. 


BY  THE   SHORE 

TOWN-BELLS  over  the  land, 

Fog-bells  over  the  sea; 

On  the  beach  between  in  the  mist  I  stand, 

And  each  bell  calls  to  me. 

Out  of  the  fog  I  hear: 
"Come,  I  am  cool  and  sweet; 
My  veil  shall  wrap  thee  away  from  fear, 
My  paths  shall  rest  thy  feet. 

"  Come,  as  the  ship  that  came 
Into  me  on  a  morn  of  gray; 
Follow  it,  naming  Love's  dear  name, 
And  find  what  it  bore  away. 

"Find?  Yes,  so  it  may  chance; 
Yet  come  for  the  respite's  sake ; 


BY  THE  SHORE  39 

Enough  that  I  pledge  you  my  ocean's  trance 
And  oblivion  —  come,  and  take ! " 

And  the  land-bells  ring  me:  "Here, 
Here  are  the  fixed  and  true; 
We  ring  for  the  lifted  mists,  the  clear, 
Sure  noons  of  gleaming  blue. 

11  Out  into  the  day  we  call 
You  and  your  peers,  like  men, 
Girt  as  ye  are,  to  win  and  fall, 
And  falling  to  win  again. 

"Strength  is  yours  for  a  shield; 
Take  heart,  and  grasp  it  fast! 
Come,  and  bear  from  the  hard-fought  field 
The  guerdon  of  love  at  last!" 


40  BY  THE  SHORE 

On  the  beach  in  the  mist  I  stand, 
And  voices  are  calling  me,  — 
Town-bells  over  the  land, 
Fog-bells  over  the  sea. 


FLAGS   AT   HALF-MAST 

BUT  yesterday  the  winds  of  hope 
Took  heart  of  every  banner  high, 

And  sped  across  each  peopled  slope 
And  port  of  ships  beneath  the  sky. 

Now  to  the  colors  drooping  low 
The  winds  creep  heavily,  and  pass, 

Bearing  a  weight  of  public  woe; 
Alas  for  yesterday,  alas! 


THE  DEATH 

I  SHUDDER  not  when  back  I  bend 

My  thought  on  life's  first  painful  breath; 
Nor  will  I  tremble  for  the  end  — 
The  last  is  only  death. 

To  fear  this  death  would  shame  my  birth, 

Yet  lowers  a  death  I  fear  to  die  — 
Even  before  our  inn,  the  earth, 
Has  place  for  me  to  lie. 

It  shall  o'ertake  me  when  the  face 

Of  spring  or  winter  speaks  no  word, 
When  wind  and  water  stir  apace 

And  naught  but  sound  is  heard; 

When  walking  in  the  silent  wood 
I  find  no  spirit  breathing  there, 


THE  DEATH  43 

No  presence  in  the  solitude 

Else  spreading  everywhere. 

It  shall  befall  when,  deaf  to  hear 

And  dumb  to  speak  what  heart  tells  heart, 
Through  one  long  winter  of  the  year 
I  fare  from  friends  apart; 

When  noble  music,  tale,  or  deed 

Warms  not  the  blood  to  swifter  flow, 
When  numb  alike  to  art  and  need 
In  dull  content  I  grow :  — 

This  were  the  dread  and  inmost  fate, 

And  burial  were  the  end  thereof, 
Should  dearth  of  loving,  known  too  late, 
Lose  me  the  way  to  love. 


THE   ORCHESTRA 

UPON  the  mountain's  morning  side 
The  players,  all  in  feathered  coats, 

On  tree- tops  swing,  in  thickets  hide, 
And  sound  preliminary  notes. 

The  violinists  here  and  there 
Tune  all  their  many  strings  unseen; 

Long  sloping  tones  are  in  the  air, 
With  pizzicato  bits  between. 

Hark !  't  is  a  flute's  roulade  so  near 
That  revels  gay  and  unafraid ! 

And  there !  the  clarinet  rings  clear 
Its  mellow  trill  from  yonder  glade. 

The  gentle  tappings  of  a  drum 
Sound  where  the  beeches  thinner  grow; 


THE  ORCHESTRA  45 

Nearer  a  humorist  is  come 
Upon  his  droll  bassoon  to  blow. 

And  now  a  'cello  from  afar 

Breathes  out  its  human,  dim  appeal  — 
A  voice  as  from  a  distant  star 

Where  mortals  work  their  woe  and  weal. 

Then  down  a  sylvan  aisle  I  gaze, 
And  to  my  musing  sense  it  seems 

A  leader  mounts  a  log,  and  sways 
His  baton  like  a  man  of  dreams. 

And  here  behold  a  marvel  wrought! 

For  marshalled  in  a  concord  sweet 
The  blending  fragments  all  are  brought 

To  tune  and  harmony  complete. 


46  THE  ORCHESTRA 

Is  it  a  masterpiece  that  men 

Have  heard  before  —  and  found  it  good  ? 
Is  this  the  Rheinland  o'er  again? 

Am  I  with  Siegfried  in  the  wood? 

Nay  —  for  this  priceless  hour  't  is  mine 
To  share  with  Nature's  audience 

A  symphony  too  rare  and  fine 
For  skill  of  human  instruments. 

Leader,  what  music  hast  thou  stirred! 

Players,  still  heed  him  every  one ! 
And  God  be  thanked  for  every  bird 

That  sings  beneath  the  May-day  sun ! 


THE   FIRST   OF   SPRING 

WHAT  jingling  tumult  spans  the  air 
From  where  the  brook  runs  swift  and  bright  ? 

The  host  of  hylas  piping  there, 
Or  winter's  sleigh-bells  faint  with  flight? 


WEEPING  WILLOWS 

THE  first  to  don  the  green  at  winter's  death, 
Last,  ere  he  lives  again,  to  lay  it  by,  — 

Like  tears  are  ye,  that  spring  with  man's  first 

breath, 
And  loyally  attend  him  till  he  die. 


INTERPRETATION 

THESE  gentle  lines  of  Nature's  face 

Are  like  a  living  face  I  love, 
And  keen  mine  eyes  have  grown  to  trace 

What  signs  soe'er  across  it  move. 

To  stranger  eyes  a  peace  serene 
Broods  over  all,  from  east  to  west; 

For  them  't  is  as  a  painted  scene; 
For  me  it  quivers  with  unrest. 

Now  on  the  water  something  stirs  — 
A  sail,  a  breeze,  a  flotsam  thing; 

Now  from  the  point  of  junipers 
The  birds  fly  out  on  seaward  wing. 

Slow  creatures  o'er  the  pasture  stray, 
The  shadows  up  the  hillside  run; 


INTERPRETATION  49 

And  lo!  through  all  the  changeful  day 
The  miracles  of  wind  and  sun. 

The  signal  colors  of  the  year 
Are  mine  to  watch  with  heedful  eye; 

The  gradual  seasons  drawing  near 
Claim  vigilance  and  constancy. 

Unseen  or  clear  the  changes  fall, 
And  Nature's  face  that  seems  so  still 

Is  full  of  motion  mystical 
And  boding  signs  for  good  or  ill. 

But  ah !  the  spirit  hid  within  — 
When  shall  I  learn  its  ways  to  trace  ? 

The  subtler  skill  when  shall  I  win, 
And  learn  to  read  that  living  face? 


THE   HORIZON   AT   SEA 

A  LINE  inexorably  straight, 
In  larger  truth,  a  girdling  ring, 

Fixed  either  way  as  firm  as  fate, 
And  always  onward  beckoning; 

Clear-cut  and  far,  or  near  and  blurred, 
As  powers  of  sun  and  cloud  decree, 

By  these  thy  provocations  stirred, 
We  seek  the  farthest  mystery. 

Emblem  of  boundaries  strictly  set, 
Emblem  of  venturous  search  and  hope, 

Circled  by  thee  can  man  forget 
His  limitation  and  his  scope? 


THE   FIELD-DAY 

A  YELLOW  banner  first  was  seen 

Where  every  willow  stood, 
Long,  long  before  a  hint  of  green 

Had  touched  the  hillside  wood. 

Then,  as  if  autumn  had  come  back, 

A  glow  of  red  returned 
To  all  the  maple  branches  black, 

Whereon  a  dark  fire  burned. 

"Now  strike  your  bleak  and  shivering  tents!" 

The  signals  gave  the  word. 
"Form,  companies  and  regiments!" 

And  all  the  army  stirred. 

The  marching  orders  of  the  year 
Were  thus  proclaimed  at  last; 


52  THE   FIELD-DAY 

The  field-day  of  the  spring  was  near, 
The  winter  bivouac  past. 

In  suits  of  green  they  decked  them  out, 
Like  Robin  Hood's  brave  band; 

The  May  winds  rallied  with  a  shout, 
The  warm  sun  lit  the  land. 

The  orchard  trees  must  lead  the  van 
With  banners  pink  and  white; 

And  so  they  gathered  clan  by  clan, 
And  formed  their  lines  aright. 

Then  was  the  great  commander  heard, 
And  the  order  came  to  march; 

And  music  fell  from  every  bird 
Beneath  the  heavens'  high  arch. 


THE    FIELD-DAY  53 

From  street  and  lane  and  park  and  field, 

From  road  and  hill  and  shore, 
The  great  green  army  wound  and  wheeled 

Across  the  world  once  more. 


"HOAR-FROST   LIKE  ASHES" 

AN  autumn  field  gave  back  the  moon's  wan  smile; 

Each  gazed  at  each,  like  lovers  pale  and  fair ; 
When  morning  came  and  wondering  laughed  awhile, 

An  ashen  glory  lingered  everywhere. 


WINTER   BEAUTY 

HERE  stands  a  parable  in  all  men's  sight: 
'Mid  the  green  grass  yon  bowlder  showed  but 

gray. 
Now   snows   have  clasped  it  in  their  frame  of 

white,  — 
'Tis  green  with  lichens,  as  the  early  May. 


A   TREE 

BLOWN  all  one  way  I  saw  it  stand 
Forth  from  its  fellows  of  the  wood 

That  faced  the  sea-winds  on  the  strand, 
A  tall,  unflinching  brotherhood. 

Compassed  by  them,  it  might  have  grown 
In  strength  and  symmetry  like  theirs, 

Not  leaning  landward  now  alone, 
Like  one  unfriended,  bent  with  cares. 

The  winds  had  shaped  it,  —  so  I  mused, 
And  gathered  round  I  seemed  to  see 

The  forms  of  creatures,  storm-blown,  bruised, 
Resting  beneath  their  kinsman  tree. 

Some  were  the  men  bent  all  one  way 
By  blasts  of  bitterness  and  wrong, 


56  A  TREE 

Doomed  to  a  single-handed  fray, 
Too  weak  to  meet  a  foe  so  strong. 

The  winds  of  poverty  and  loss 
Of  all  that  man  counts  dear  on  earth  — 

Whether  the  gold  be  gold  or  dross  — 
Had  shapen  some  to  forms  of  dearth. 

And  those  there  were  whose  backs  were  bowed 
By  breezes  they  had  thought  all  fair; 

Prospered  and  loved  too  much,  they  showed 
Distorted  as  the  ugliest  there. 

Alien  to  joy,  to  sorrow  near, 
The  subtler  pains  most  subtly  felt, 

All  the  sad  company  was  here, 
Wherein  misforming  grief  had  dwelt. 


A   TREE  57 

And  now  the  wind-bent  tree  is  more 
Than  tree  unto  mine  inmost  ken, 

For  in  its  image  by  the  shore 
I  see  the  world-bent  forms  of  men. 


GOLDENROD 

THE  dying  summer,  loath  to  lay  aside 
Its  customed  many-colored  robe  of  pride, 
With  the  last  effort  of  a  vanquished  god, 
Skirts  all  its  fields  and  roads  with  goldenrod, 


REVELATION 

OUR  air  hangs  full  of  dust  specks  seen  by  none, 
Until  a  shaft  of  light,  as  from  a  bow, 

Pierces  its  arrowy  way  from  God's  clear  sun, 
And  shows  what  stuff  we're  breathing  here  below. 


FIRE   OF   APPLE-WOOD 

THE  windows  toward  the  east  and  north 
Rattle  and  drip  against  the  storm. 

Though  spring,  without,  has  ventured  forth, 
Only  the  fireside  here  is  warm. 

Through  wind-swept  sheets  of  driven  rain 
The  ancient  orchard  shows  forlorn, 

Like  brave  old  soldiery  half  slain, 
With  gaps  to  tell  the  losses  borne. 

And  fragments  of  the  fallen  trees 
Burn  on  the  hearth  before  me  bright. 

The  fire  their  captive  spirit  frees; 
Musing,  I  watch  it  take  its  flight. 

In  embers  flushed  and  embers  pale 
Sparkle  the  blooms  of  some  far  spring; 


60  FIRE   OF   APPLE-WOOD 

Of  bees  and  sunshine  what  a  tale 
Told  in  a  moment's  flowering! 

How  swift  the  flames  of  gold  and  blue 
Up  from  the  glowing  logs  aspire! 

There  yellowbird  and  bluebird  flew, 
And  oriole,  each  with  wings  of  fire. 

Now  in  the  hearth-light  —  or  the  trees  — 
Stirs  something  they  and  I  have  heard: 

Ah,  is  it  not  the  summer  breeze, 
Come  back  to  us  with  sun  and  bird? 

Poor  summers,  born  again  —  to  die ! 

Quickly  as  they  have  come,  they  go. 
See,  where  the  ashes  smouldering  lie, 

The  orchard  floor  is  white  with  snow. 


BROKEN   STILLNESS 

SAY  you  the  gentlest  note  of  Nature's  speech 
Falls  with  the  last  faint  raindrops  of  the  spring, 
Or  murmurs  in  the  tide  along  the  beach, 
Or  in  the  leaves  to  slow  winds  answering? 
Gentle  are  these,  but  gentler,  hark !  how  low  — 
The  sibillant  whisper  of  the  falling  snow. 


BEFORE  THE   SNOW 

THE  yellow  flame  of  goldenrod 

Is  spent,  and  by  the  road  instead, 
The  flowers,  like  smoke-wreaths  o'er  the  sod, 
Hang  burned  and  dead. 

The  sumac  cones  of  crimson  show 

Beyond  the  roadside,  black  and  charred; 
The  trees,  a  bloodless,  ashen  row, 
Stand  autumn-scarred. 

Dark  are  the  field-fires  of  the  year; 

Let  all  the  flickering  embers  die! 
Without,  the  cold  white  days  are  near; 

Within  are  warmth  —  and  you,  and  I. 


SONG 

Is  it  that  I  am  poor  in  love? 

Nay,  dear,  unless  it  be 
My  poverty,  forsooth,  I  prove 

By  love  for  none  but  thee. 

Is  it  through  wealth  of  love  that  men 

Can  see  the  first  fires  die, 
And  give  their  hearts  again,  again? 

Then  thrice  a  pauper  I! 

But  since  to  thee  I  Ve  given  all 
That,  rich  or  poor,  was  mine, 

I  can  abide  whate'er  befall 
The  gift,  dear,  now  't  is  thine. 


BITTER-SWEET 

THEY  gave  the  garden  Friendship's  name, 

And  planted  many  a  seed, 
Unthinking,  till  a  wizard  came 

And  did  a  wondrous  deed. 

Where  one  seed  lay  he  touched  his  wand, 

And  high  all  else  above, 
Sprang  full-blown,  fair  all  flowers  beyond, 

The  blood-red  flower  of  Love. 

Then  one  said,  "Come,  be  friends  again," 

But  ah!  what  magic  cry 
Can  bid  the  bloom  grow  back?  'Tis  vain! 

The  bittered  flower  must  die. 


THE   BLIND 

IN  empty  days  now  left  behind, 

I  asked  why  Love  was  counted  blind. 

No  answer  came  until  I  learned 
What  every  lover  has  discerned : 

The  blind  —  my  answer  ran  —  are  reft 
Of  one  thing,  but  how  much  is  left ! 

Touch,  hearing,  every  quickened  sense 
Thrills  with  an  impulse  thrice  intense. 

And  so  when  Love  has  filled  the  heart, 
Dull  man  awakes  in  every  part; 

Undreamed-of  potencies  are  rife 
Within  him,  crying  "Sweet  is  life!" 

And  if  half-blindness  be  his  lot, 
What  matter  —  since  he  knows  it  not  ? 


GIVING  AND   KEEPING 

BETTER  than  thy  gift,  dear  friend, 
Rare  and  precious  though  it  be, 

Is  the  thing  thou  couldst  not  send 
From  thy  inmost  heart  to  me. 

Who  am  I  to  say  thee  so? 

Who  but  one  taught  long  and  well 
That  from  out  the  hand  can  go 

Naught  that  in  the  heart  doth  dwell  ? 

When  to  thee  with  gem  or  flower, 

I  would  offer  most  besides, 
Then,  beyond  a  giver's  power, 

Most  within  me  still  abides. 


A  TREASURE   HOUSE 

THE  poet's  song,  the  painter's  art, 
Are  richest  when  they  tell  but  part; 

We  hear  the  sweetest  player,  and  thrill 
With  dreams  of  music  sweeter  still; 

The  spring's  first  brightness  is  so  dear 
Because  we  feel  the  summer  near;  — 

Shall  I  not  love  my  love  the  more 
For  keeping  wealths  of  love  in  store? 


A   SERMON 

TEN  crimson  drops  of  nature's  blood, 
Ten  berries  of  the  alder  tree, 

Saturday's  gleaning  from  the  wood, 
Went  to  the  church  with  you  and  me. 

And  while  the  learned  doctor  there 
His  theologic  missiles  threw, 

These  children  of  the  sun  and  air 
Sat  calm  and  heedless  —  so  did  you. 

But  once  I  saw  a  small  caress 
Steal  from  your  finger  to  their  cheek 

With  messages  of  tenderness 
And  sympathy  no  word  could  speak. 


A    SERMON  69 

'T  was  then  I  felt  you  kin  to  them, 

Pagan  and  nature-bred  and  free; 
And  you  and  that  bright  woodland  stem 

Preached  gospels  of  your  own  to  me. 


AT   THE   HEART 

THE  heart  is  but  a  narrow  space 
For  paltriness  to  find  a  place; 
But  in  its  precincts  there  is  room 
Sufficient  unto  bliss  or  doom. 
The  certainties,  so  few,  are  there, 
The  doubts  that  feed  the  soul  with  care; 
The  passions  battling  with  the  will 
To  guide  their  liege  to  good  or  ill; 
The  saving  grace  of  reverence, 
The  saving  hatred  of  pretence; 
The  sympathy  of  common  birth 
With  all  the  native  things  of  earth : 
The  love  begun  with  life,  the  love 
That  years  diminish  not,  nor  move; 
And  —  more  in  such  a  narrow  space  ?  — 
The  image  of  a  woman's  face. 


THE   HEADSMAN 

(On  a  picture  found  in  an  old  country  house) 

COVERED  with  dust  of  years  long  dead, 
And  hard  beset  by  cruel  chance, 

The  painting  and  the  girlish  head 
Bear  still  the  grace  of  ancient  France. 

Look  closer  —  yes  —  't  is  poor  Lamballe, 
The  friend  of  royal  Antoinette, 

Fair  flower  by  Terror's  fierce  mistral 
Cut  down  untimely  —  fragrant  yet ! 

Now  the  time-darkened  eyes  look  out 
Through  glass  in  broken  forms  grotesque, 

With  curious  cobwebs  hung  about 
In  quaint  festoon  and  arabesque. 


72  THE    HEADSMAN 

And  one  grim  spider  in  his  zeal 

Across  the  round  white  throat  has  made 
A  straight  line  as  of  tarnished  steel, 
In  mocking  memory  of  the  blade. 

Dull  emblem  of  oblivion  wrought 
Where  now  my  hand  can  brush  it  by  — 

And  thus  a  century  is  taught 
What  once  it  was  for  her  to  die ! 

Picture  and  cobweb  —  ah,  how  vain 
On  earth's  remembrance  yet  to  call ! 

The  sum  of  beauty  and  of  pain, 
Spider  and  painter  tell  it  all. 


THE   FIELD  OF   HONOR 

SOLDIER  and  statesman  fall  no  more 
Like  Hamilton,  slain  in  his  pride; 

No  sailor  hero  seeks  the  shore 
To  die  as  great  Decatur  died; 

For  honor's  code  of  murderous  lust 

Lies  buried  'neath  dishonor's  dust. 

Now  in  the  dark  east  waits  the  day 
Long  prophesied,  prayed,  yearned  for  still, 

When  angered  nations  shall  obey 

God's  law  for  men  —  thou  shalt  not  kill. 

Then  all  the  codes  of  blood  shall  cease, 

And  fields  of  honor  smile  with  peace. 


THE   PHYSICIAN 

THE  lightning  spark,  the  flowering  field, 
The  chemic  lore  of  every  land  — 

All  nature  and  all  science  yield 
Their  tribute  to  his  healing  hand. 

These  garnered  wonders  of  the  earth 
He  carries  to  each  home  of  pain, 

Where,  through  some  spell  of  magic  worth, 
His  gentle  strength  brings  hope  again. 

And  rooms  of  darkness  grow  to  light, 
And  life  beloved  gains  yet  a  span. 

Hail  him  who  stays  the  march  of  night, 
God's  present  minister  to  man ! 


GEOGRAPHY 

WHEN  you  were  once  in  Italy 

Its  consecrated  map 
Glowed  like  an  ancient  broidery 

Immune  from  time's  mishap. 

And  where  you  tarried  for  a  space 

In  fabled  cities  there, 
Each  spot  took  on  a  passing  grace 

That  made  the  map  more  fair. 

The  name  of  Florence  shone  as  clear 

Beneath  my  curious  gaze 
As  if  a  Beatrice  drew  near 

To  light  our  darker  days. 

And  Venice  by  the  bridegroom  sea 
Stood  radiant  as  of  yore; 


76  GEOGRAPHY 

What  wonder  if  its  glow  for  me 
A  nuptial  semblance  bore! 

In  Rome's  eternity  of  youth, 
'Gainst  every  shock  secure, 

I  saw  what  things  of  love  and  truth 
May  perish  yet  endure. 

So  much  for  Italy :  you  turned 
New  countries  to  salute,  — 

The  map  became  once  more  a  spurned, 
Disreputable  boot. 


LESBIA'S   SPARROW 

(From  Catullus) 

MOURN,  Goddesses  of  Love,  and  Cupids,  mourn, 

And  men  of  gentler  mould  where'er  ye  be; 

My  sweetheart's  sparrow    hath  been  seized   by 

Death  - 

The  sparrow,  darling  of  my  loved  one's  heart, 
Which  she  was  wont  to  love  more  than  her  eyes; 
For  he  was  sweet  as  honey  unto  her, 
And  knew  her  as  a  maid  her  mother  knows; 
Nor  from  her  bosom  was  he  fain  to  move, 
But  hopping  round  about,  now  here,  now  there, 
He  piped  unto  his  mistress,  her  alone. 
And  now  along  the  darksome  road  he  goes 
Where  never  step,  men  say,  has  yet  turned  back. 
Then  ill  betide  you,  wicked  shades  of  hell, 
Which  swallow  up  all  lovely  things!   So  fair 


78  LESBIA'S   SPARROW 

A  sparrow  have  ye  borne  away  from  her. 
The  evil  deed  is  done,  alas!  Poor  bird, 
It  is  thy  fault  that  swollen  eyes  are  red 
Through  weeping,  —  that  my  loved  one's  eyes  are 
red. 


"WHOM   THE   GODS   LOVE" 

WHOM  the  gods  love  die  young" ;  —  if  gods  ye  be, 
Then  generously  might  ye  have  spared  to  us 
One  from  your  vast  unnumbered  overplus, 
One  youth  we  loved  as  tenderly  as  ye. 


A   GALA   DAY 

MEN  make  them  ready  for  the  pageant  bright 
With  banners,  robes,  and  panoply  of  cost, 

Yet  cannot  hold  the  rain-cloud  of  a  night 
From  that  whereby  the  brilliance  all  is  lost. 


INVESTIGATION 

THERE  was  a  simple  citizen 
Who  read  the  news  each  day, 

And  marvelled  much  that  living  men  - 
Their  trusts  could  so  betray. 

"  Since  all  the  world  is  steeped  in  sin, 
Were  it  not  well/'  quoth  he, 

"That  some  inquiries  should  begin 
At  home,  like  charity?" 

And  so  this  very  simple  man 

Put  questions  to  himself, 
Though  surely  't  was  a  worn-out  plan, 

Fit  for  a  dusty  shelf. 

He  asked  if  he  had  ever  bent 
To  custom's  smug  control, 


INVESTIGATION  81 

And  made  —  't  was  so  expedient  — 
Small  rebates  to  his  soul. 

Then  how  before  all-searching  eyes 
Would  show  his  kindliest  act? 

In  what  preservatives  and  dyes 
Were  half  his  motives  packed? 

Honor  like  his  stood  so  secure 
That  none  could  tempt  it  —  still, 

Had  he,  with  specious,  subtle  lure, 
Bribed  never  yet  his  will? 

Thus  did  the  simple  citizen 

Probe  in  his  private  court: 
The  findings  lie  beyond  our  ken  — 

He's  published  no  report. 


THE   LAST  ACT 

IF  life 's  a  play  —  then  what  of  us  who  sit 

Filling  the  boxes,  balconies,  and  pit? 

How  strange  the  drama,  when  not  one  of  all 

Can  keep  his  seat  until  the  curtain  fall! 

Some  stay  the  first  act  out,  and  some  the  second; 

Who  see  the  fourth  "old  stagers"  may  be  reckoned. 

But  ere  the  last  is  ended,  every  one 

Takes  up  his  cloak,  and,  looking  back,  is  gone  — 

Like  poor  suburbans  hurrying  for  a  train, 

Longing  to  see  the  end,  alas !  in  vain. 


AFTER   ALL 

How  shall  the  storm  end?  Thus,  for  me:  — 

By  night,  with  a  west  wind  strong  and  free, 

Rolling  seaward  the  clouds  on  high 

Like  routed  squadrons  across  the  sky, 

Across  the  moon  that  shall  change  their  gray 

To  the  silver-white  of  a  mystic  day; 

Rifts  there  shall  be,  and  back,  far  back, 

In  the  depths  of  the  blue  so  nearly  black, 

A  few  sure  stars  like  eyes  shall  shine 

And  say,  "Here  the  storms  end,  earth's  and  thine." 


THE   TRAVELLERS 

THEY  made  them  ready  and  we  saw  them  go 

Out  of  our  very  lives; 

Yet  this  world  holds  them  all, 

And  soon  it  must  befall 

That  we  shall  know 

How  this  one  fares,  how  that  one  thrives; 

And  one  day  —  who  knows  when  ?  — 

They  shall  be  with  us  here  again. 

Another  traveller  left  us  late 

Whose  life  was  as  the  soul  of  ours; 

A  stranger  guest  went  with  him  to  the  gate, 

And  closed  it  breathing  back  a  breath  of  flowers. 

And  what  the  eyes  we  loved  now  look  upon, 

What  industries  the  hands  employ, 

In  what  new  speech  the  tongue  hath  joy, 


THE   TRAVELLERS  85 

We  may  not  know  —  until  one  day, 

And  then  another,  as  our  toil  is  done, 

The  same  still  guest  shall  visit  us, 

And  one  by  one 

Shall  take  us  by  the  hand  and  say, 

"  Come  with  me  to  the  country  marvellous, 

Where  he  has  dwelt  so  long  beyond  your  sight. 

'T  were  idle  waiting  for  his  own  return 

That  ne'er  shall  be;  face  the  perpetual  light, 

And  with  him  learn 

Whatever  the  heavens  unfold  of  knowledge  infinite." 

Each  after  each  then  shall  we  rise, 

And  follow  through  the  stranger's  secret  gate, 

And  we  shall  ask  and  hear,  beyond  surmise, 

What  glorious  life  is  his,  since  desolate 

We  stood  about  the  bed 

Where  our  blind  eyes  looked  down  on  him  as  dead. 


« WHERE   IT   LISTETH" 

THE  wind  is  like  a  ravening  beast  to-night, 
Mad  for  its  prey  and  howling  down  the  trail; 
I  hear  without  its  baffled  snarl  and  bite, 
And  feel  the  shouldering  of  its  fierce  assail, 
Shaking  the  rooted  walls  with  hideous  din, 
And  hoarse,  as  one  with  shouting,  "Let  me  in!" 

Ah,  ye  who  watch  this  night  where  sick  men  lie, 
Shelter  their  sleep  as  shrewdly  as  ye  may ! 
So  easily  this  blast  that  rushes  by 
Might  snatch  a  fitful  breath  and  whirl  away 
Into  the  blackness  with  it  —  on  and  on : 
"Whither,"  we  cry,  "oh,  whither  hath  it  gone?" 


A  WINTER   ELEGY 

(J.  F.  H.) 

Xo  walk  beside  this  winter  shore 

Was  not  for  his  young  feet; 
Of  summer  learned  he  all  his  lore, 
Smiling  from  life's  wide-opened  door, 
A  summer  world  to  greet. 

This  icy  channel's  narrowed  span 

'T  was  not  for  him  to  know ; 
His  current,  widening  as  it  ran, 
Still  smoothly  spreads  as  it  began, 
Free  from  our  frost  and  snow. 

Like  sails  of  shallops  overset, 

The  floes  of  ice  are  borne 
Along  a  tide  he  knew  not  yet 
Whose  boat  no  chilling  blasts  had  met, 

Where  Hope's  brave  flag  is  torn. 


OF   THE 

UNIVERSITY 


88  A   WINTER   ELEGY 

Now  he  is  gone,  I  would  not  find 

These  waters  summer-fair, 
Girt  round  with  meadows  bland  and  kind; 
The  rigors  of  the  winter  wind 

Better  befit  our  care. 

Yet  sometimes  on  the  snow-wrapped  hill 

A  light  at  evening  lies, 
Tender  beyond  the  summer's  skill :  — 
What  light,  I  wonder,  fairer  still, 

Gladdens  his  absent  eyes? 

And  sometimes,  touched  by  winter's  breath, 

I  thrill  with  wakened  powers. 
"Youth  still  is  his,"  a  whisper  saith; 
"That  searching  spirit  found  not  death, 

But  life  —  more  life  than  ours." 


THE  WAITING   DEEDS 

(H.  K.) 

SAY  not  because  the  promised  deed 
Dropped  from  his  hand  undone, 

His  brow  shall  lack  the  laurel  meed 
That  conquerors  have  won. 

For  pain  stood  baffled  by  the  smile 

That  marked  him  master  still, 
And  we  who  wished  him  strength  the  while 

Were  stronger  for  his  will 

'T  is  deed  enough  for  some  to  be. 

Such  deed  his  being  was; 
And  still  of  potent  act  is  he 

The  brave  and  gentle  cause: 


90  THE  WAITING   DEEDS 

The  hearts  that  beat  with  his  shall  hold 
The  rhythm  his  life  hath  set; 

With  them  through  human  paths  untold 
His  spirit  marcheth  yet. 

And  past  the  threshold  where  he  stood 

We  see  in  cohorts  dim 
The  thousand  waiting  deeds  of  good  — 

Now  ours  to  do,  for  him! 


THE   SUNRISE 

BLOW  out  the  candle,  day  is  come; 

The  watchers  need  no  other  light 
Than  that  which  floods  the  solemn  room 

Where  life  is  passing  with  the  night. 

Across  the  smiling  acres  green, 
Across  the  point,  the  bay,  the  hills, 

Strong,  like  the  soul  that  loved  the  scene, 
The  tide  of  dawn  the  chamber  fills. 

Blow  out  the  candle  —  small  his  care 
Whose  mortal  light  burns,  ah!  so  dim; 

Haply  his  vision  opens  where 
The  eternal  sunrise  shines  for  him. 


92  THE  SUNRISE 

Yes,  day  is  bright  about  his  bed, 

And  night  has  vanished  with  his  breath. 
Lo!  on  his  face,  all  shadows  fled, 
The  morning  majesty  of  death. 


FOR   E.  W.  H. 


THE  ABIDING  VOICE 

ONCE  when  you  left  me  in  a  room  alone, 
Sudden  the  world  seemed  void  and  black, 
So  that  my  heart  cried,  "  Were  she  gone, 
Gone,  never  to  come  back! 
Some  day,  how  will  it  be? 
What  will  remain  for  me?" 
Then  through  the  open  door  I  heard 
Your  gentle  singing,  as  you  stirred 
In  some  unselfish  task, 

And  in  my  heart  the  answering  song  rang  clear, 
"  God  bless  her,  always  near." 

Now  long  miles  spread  between  us,  and  I  ask, 

Can  we  be  sundered  farther  still  ? 

These  miles  are  naught,  — 

Still  I  can  feel  your  presence  near,  your  song 


96  THE  ABIDING   VOICE 

Still  mingles  with  my  thought 

To  shame  my  fears  of  distant  ill, 

And  make  my  faltering  courage  strong: 

For  listening  here  I  know 

That  when  the  miles  stretch  into  infinite  space, 

Beyond  the  scope  of  sense  or  sig'xt, 

Upon  my  spirit's  vision  there  will  glow 

Sometimes  the  semblance  of  your  face, 

And  on  my  spirit's  ear,  attuned  aright, 

Will  fall  your  gentle  singing,  by  heaven's  grace 

Borne  down  to  guide  me  groping  in  the  night, 

Unable,  but  through  you,  to  reach  your  place. 

(1898) 


RETURNED 

So  near  she  walked  beside  the  stream 
That  ever  from  the  path  she  trod 

She  watched  the  shining  towers  that  gleam 
Above  the  citadel  of  God. 

And  ever  from  the  vision  bright 
Her  eyes  were  lighted  with  a  ray 

That  shed  on  us  a  heavenly  light 
And  glorified  the  common  day. 

Till  wandering  by  the  very  shore 
She  entered  once  the  shrouded  bark, 

That  ferries  every  mortal  o'er, 
To  cross  at  last  the  waters  dark. 

Halfway  it  sped,  then  backward  turned, 
And  hearts  that  wept  beside  the  strand 


98  RETURNED 

With  grateful  joy  unhoped-for  burned 
When  safe  she  came  again  to  land. 

Nor  was  that  nearer  view  for  naught : 
Once  more  to  earth  when  she  was  given, 

Back  in  her  generous  hands  she  brought 
Fresh  lights  and  fragrances  of  heaven. 

(1904) 


FOURSCORE 

"  Yet  is  their  strength  then  but  labor  and  sorrow  " 

NAY,  not  for  all,  not  for  the  blest 

Whose  strength  it  is  to  bring 
From  out  an  antique  day  the  best 
The  ages  gave  to  them  whose  quest 
Was  with  the  gentle  King. 

For  bringing  with  them  love  and  light 

And  courage  for  new  days, 
They  arm  a  thousand  for  the  fight, 
And  fear  no  falling  of  the  night 
On  undiscovered  ways. 

(1906) 


THE   PRESENCE 

The  vision  seen  from  Patmos  all  may  see: 
Prophets  and  poets  draw  their  pictures  clear. 
More  strange  the  mystery  that,  beside  God's  throne , 
Christ  also  dwells  on  earth.  Where  dwells  He  then  ? 
These  eyes  that  pierce  the  unseen  may  surely  see 
What  stalks  or  steals  along  our  trodden  ways. 
Where  shall  I  seek,  where  find,  the  living  Christ  ? 

Then  hast  them  sought  where  silent  thousands  kneel 
'Neath  immemorial  arches  heavenward  wrought 
As  with  God's  hand  from  His  own  forest  aisles  ?  — 
Where  incense  folds  and  lifts  the  floating  prayer, 
And  music  to  the  heart's  cry  lends  a  voice; 
Where  listening  ears  drink  in  the  word  of  God, 
Where  wandering  eyes  rest  on  the  changeless  cross 
And  every  symbol  of  the  gentle  faith 
That  made  this  Christian  world  the  world  it  is  ? 


THE   PRESENCE  101 

There,  to  thy  vision,  o'er  the  multitude 
Hovers  no  form  of  Christ  the  Comforter  ? 

A  mystic  shape  ?   Yes  —  there  it  broods  indeed; 
Yet  for  a  sign  more  intimate  I  yearn. 

Then  hast  thou  marked  the  Doers  of  the  Word, 
Women  and  men  of  every  clime  and  tongue, 
Cribbed  by  no  builded  wall,  no  cramping  name, 
Wearing  no  badge  but  service  to  their  kind, 
Healing  the  sick  and  strengthening  the  poor, 
Moulding  just  laws  and  ruling  righteously, 
Spending  themselves  till  all  be  gladly  spent 
With  opening  darkened  windows  to  the  light; 
Sharing  the  common  lot  of  common  men, 
But  to  such  ends  that  round  them  day  by  day 
Heaven's  kingdom  spreads  its  earthly  boundaries  ? 
Mid  all  this  soldiery,  this  countless  host 


102  THE   PRESENCE 

Whose  warfare  is  the  victory  of  love, 
Moves  not  the  Captain  plainly  to  and  fro  ? 

Yes,  surely  He  is  there;  yet  in  the  press 

Of  them  that  minister  and  them  that  need, 

One  can  but  hearken,  "  There  He  passed  —  and 

there'1 ; 

One  may  not  stand  as  he  who  doubted  stood 
And  marked,  past  peradventure,  hands  and  side. 

Turn  from  the  many;  fix  thy  gaze  on  one, 

One  for  whose  path  His  footsteps  mark  the  way  — 

For  such  a  path  must  somewhere  touch  thine  own ;  — 

Look  on  the  tokens  of  His  presence  there: 

Heed  in  the  voice  that  last  sincerity 

Which  holds  pure  heart  and  speech  in  perfect  tune; 

Watch  in  the  human  eyes  the  loving  look 

Of  Him  whose  deeds  of  mercy  still  are  done. 


THE   PRESENCE  103 

Again  in  human  weakness  see  Him  brave 
To  bear  the  imminent  cross,  to  walk  in  trust 
That  Love  encompasseth  and  guideth  all, 
And  so  to  walk  in  fearlessness  and  joy. 
Ever  more  like  in  outward  semblance  they 
Who  move  through  years  of  inmost  unison; 
So  to  His  image  hourly  grows  each  one 
In  whom  the  Christ  His  habitation  makes, 
For  not  in  creed  or  deed  shines  He  so  clear 
As  in  one  radiant  life  aglow  with  Him; 
And  daily  for  a  sign  shalt  thou  behold 
New  Calvaries  of  self,  and  from  its  grave 
New  resurrections  of  the  living  Christ. 

So  near,  and  yet  I  sought  Him  far,  —  all  hid 
Beneath  a  guise  so  plain  I  scanned  it  not ! 
Through  all  the  seeming  now  His  presence  flames ; 
Now  in  the  mortal  flesh  I  feel  the  wounds. 
(1908) 


THE   INNER   CHAMBER 

PEACE  dwelt  with  her,  and  faith,  and  gentleness, 

And  all  things  else  that  dwell  with  souls  benign. 

Hath  she  not  left  these  in  some  visible  shrine 

Whereunto  we  may  press 

In  holy  pilgrimages,  to  renew 

Our  strength  that  had  been  weakness  but  for  her  ? 

Nay,  there  is  naught  for  outward  view; 

I  may  not  open  any  door  and  say, 

"Here  with  these  trappings  of  her  mortal  day 

Some  living  part  of  her  is  yet  astir." 

This  may  not  be,  but  reared  within  my  heart 

A  secret,  inner  chamber  stands  apart, 

All  furnished  forth  with  her.  —  There  charity 

And  justice  side  by  side  appear, 

Not  as  mere  dreams  of  good, 


THE   INNER   CHAMBER  105 

But  as  they  stood 

Embodied  in  herself  unchangeably: 

A  charity  that  spread  like  shafts  of  light, 

Glowing  with  warmth  and  radiance  near, 

Yet  searching,  reaching  every  lair  of  night; 

A  justice,  like  God's  mercy,  fain  to  see 

In  every  soul  an  equal  weight  and  worth, 

And,  seeing,  to  withhold  from  none  on  earth 

The  bread  of  love,  the  cup  of  sympathy. 

And  here,  the  more  to  glorify  the  place 

With  what  she  was, 

Are  ancient  firm  beliefs  in  the  old  cause 

Of  truth  eternal,  and,  through  heaven-sent  grace, 

A  smiling  courage  still  by  them  to  live. 

Here,  too,  is  humor,  warm  and  sensitive, 

Playing  like  a  summer  breeze 

Through  open  windows  flooded  with  the  sun, 

Tempering  the  air  with  all  felicities 

Of  true  proportion. 


io6  THE   INNER   CHAMBER 

Hither  I  come  for  solace  from  the  moil 
And  emptiness  without; 
And  all  about 

The  signs  of  her  —  these  and  so  many  more ! 
Blend  as  they  blent  of  yore 
In  aspirations  deep 
And  yearnings  oft  untold 
For  them  her  inmost  heart  would  ever  keep 
Inviolate  from  hurt  or  soil. 

These  thoughts  of  her  like  tapestries  enfold 
My  inner  chamber,  whence  I  turn  again 
Refreshed,  renewed  to  face  the  world  of  men. 

(1909) 


OF   THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 


(£f)c  niUers'ibc  press 

CAMBRIDGE  .  MASSACHUSETTS 
U    .    S    .    A 


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